


Falling Light

by QuickYoke



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, Warcraft III, World of Warcraft
Genre: Court Politics, Dancing, F/F, Flagrant Disregard for Canon, Fluff and Smut, Not Canon Compliant, Pre-Third War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 23:03:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17109833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickYoke/pseuds/QuickYoke
Summary: Apprentice Jaina Proudmoore receives an unexpected invitation to the Court of Silvermoon for the solstice celebrations. Based on the 'Falling' series by Redisaid and set sometime after part 2.





	Falling Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Redisaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redisaid/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Falling Snow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17005317) by [Redisaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redisaid/pseuds/Redisaid). 



> I asked the author of the 'Falling' series if I could write a little insert into the series, and she very kindly said yes. Please note, this is not compliant with the series' official timeline/story, and is just me dabbling in the AU for fun.

 

> _“I felt as soft as a summer’s day, all bloom and scent, all joy of being.”_
> 
> _-Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin_

 

* * *

* * *

 

Four weeks into summer, Vereesa delivered her another letter.

“It’s not that kind of letter,” Vereesa warned upon seeing Jaina’s face light up with excitement.

Jaina tried to school her features, tried to appear self-contained and most of all innocent. “What kind of letter?” she asked.

In answer, Vereesa fixed her with a long look that very nearly made Jaina squirm. So much for pretenses of composure. She glanced over Jaina’s shoulder to check that the Archmage Antonidas was still engaged in conversation with Modera in the chambers beyond, then leaned forward. “I know you two are still close,” she murmured in a low tone. “But I think you made the right decision by listening to my advice.”

Six months had passed since she and Sylvanas had exchanged ‘tokens’ – for lack of a better word – and somehow Jaina had managed to cast Vereesa off the trail of discovery. And here she thought they hadn’t been very discreet. If nothing else, it was proof that Vereesa did not, in fact, read their mail, though Jaina had taken to enchanting her missives to appear with different words if opened by anyone but Sylvanas nonetheless.

“Oh,” Jaina breathed. “Uhm – Well, yes – She’s been very good to me and – I mean, I just didn’t want to lose her as a friend.”

Straightening, Vereesa offered her a warm smile. “And obviously you haven’t. Told you so.” And with a wink she strode past Jaina towards Antonidas.

“Hang on! You still haven't told me what kind of letter it is yet!” Jaina called after her, but Vereesa was already being hailed by Modera.

Peering down at the letter in her hands, Jaina turned it over. She traced her fingers across the fine red parchment before using the nail of her thumb to crack a golden wax seal stamped with the royal phoenix emblem. With a curious furrow in her brow, she unfolded the letter and read it.

At least, she tried to read it. It had been written in a cursive Thalassian script so stylised she could hardly make out the words. Even then, it was difficult to parse. It appeared to be a more formal dialect, far more intricate and strict than the flowing speech Jaina had been studying. Face screwing up in concentration, Jaina painstakingly read the letter.

_‘Whan the brytest star reches its zenith aboute the hevenes, and the longest day has fallyn upon us, we formally invyte you, honour’d gyst, to join in the annual sovereyn daliauncee for yond most dyvyne day of the yer: the summer solstice.’_

_-The Sun Prynce, etc._

_Kael’thas Sunstrider_

Jaina had to read the letter twice to follow the complex turns of grammar – she hadn’t encountered this particular conjugation yet – and a third time to realise that it was, in fact, an invitation to the Court of Silvermoon. Her heart began to race. She read the invitation again just to be sure.

Turning, she hesitated to walk over towards the others. Modera was laughing and Antonidas’ beard was twitching in a tell-tale smile, the two of them holding identical letters in their hands while they chatted with the youngest Windrunner sister. Jaina folded the letter back together, steeling herself with a deep breath and a smile, and then joined them.

As she approached, Antonidas’ sharp eyes flicked down to the invitation she held. “I see the young prince’s social courtesies extend not just to the Council of Six, but to the likes of my assistant as well.”

“My prince is nothing if not decorous,” Vereesa replied with far more tact than her sister would have mustered.

“Can I go?” Jaina asked, hoping she didn’t sound too keen at the idea. And if she did, then she hoped it could be chalked up to the excitement of attending an elven court festival.

“Not only can you go, you must,” Modera said. She tapped her own invitation with her fingers. “It would be disrespectful to decline. Though I hope for all our sakes you have something more suited for the occasion than your Kirin Tor robes.”

Jaina gave a self-conscious tug at the sleeve of her purple, gold-trimmed robes. “I’m sure I can find something.”

Modera’s eyes sparkled not unkindly. “See that you do.”

Vereesa inclined her head in a polite nod and said, “If you’ll excuse me, I must attend to my other duties in Dalaran before returning to Quel’Thalas. I look forward to seeing you again in a week’s time.”

“Your visits are always welcome,” Antonidas replied with a nod of his own.

At her announcement, Jaina had to cough in order to cover her squeak of surprise. “A week?” she repeated.

“Check your astrology charts, if you don’t believe me,” Vereesa said in parting with a playful nudge of her elbow against Jaina’s arm.

Vereesa strode away, leaving Jaina gaping like a fish. A week. Jaina hadn’t seen Sylvanas in months, and now suddenly she’d be attending the Court of Silvermoon in a week.

And she didn’t have anything at all appropriate to wear.

Clearing her throat, Jaina offered a shallow bow to Modera and Antonidas. “Excuse me, magisters. I think I -- ah -- need to do some research on elven court customs.”

With amusement, they watched her scamper after Veressa. She caught up near the entrance to the Archmage’s grand quarters, just in time to grab Vereesa’s arm before she could vanish through one of the omnipresent portals that led directly to the ground floor. Vereesa’s eyebrows rose, one of her long expressive ears twitching like a cat being pestered by a persistent fly. When she looked at Jaina though, her expression was open and inquisitive.

“Sorry!” Jaina gasped. She let go of Vereesa immediately.

Vereesa merely smiled at her, a flash of sharp white teeth. “It’s alright. What is it?”

“Is there - uhm -” Jaina waved her scarlet and gold invitation. “Is there anything else?”

Vereesa cocked her head. “My sister did not give me a reply to your previous letter, no.”

“No, I meant -- Who’s attending? What else should I know? Can you explain this conjugation to me -- I think it’s an antiquated form of the formal ‘you’? Is that right? Do you have any book recommendations?”

Blinking in bemusement at the flurry of questions, Vereesa answered slowly, “I read ‘Stormy Seas’ recently, if that’s what you’re after.”

“Actually I was hoping for - wait.” Jaina stopped and stared. “You read Laurence E. Craft? But he’s so bad!”

Vereesa returned that statement with an unabashed shrug. When Jaina opened her mouth to speak once again however, Vereesa placed a hand on her shoulder. “Relax,” she said, giving Jaina’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze even as she grinned. “This is only one of the most special and exclusive events of my people, attended by the best and brightest.”

Jaina rolled her eyes and said dryly, “Thanks. I’m very relaxed now.”

Chuckling, Vereesa lowered her arm. “Don’t worry. You’ll fit right in.”

Once more, she stepped towards the portal, and once again Jaina stopped her. “One last question, I swear,” Jaina said.

“Alright, alright,” Vereesa sighed. “Last question. Go.”

“What exactly is considered a dress _‘more suited to the occasion’?”_

 

* * *

 

Summer set Quel’Thalas ablaze with heat and colour. The sky burned a piercing blue, hot enough that Jaina had to squint past the flat of her palm and avert her gaze. She had only just stepped through a portal from Dalaran with the rest of the Kirin Tor delegation, and already she could feel her skin prickle with a fine sheen of sweat. Suddenly, she very much wished she had worn her hair up.

The path to Sunfury Spire was stretched with a long length of crimson fabric, flanked every few paces by ceremonial guards in matching outfits, their armour striking and bold with all the usual flair of their kin. Even walking past them near the end of the delegation, Jaina could sense the dampening spells on their tall, wing-bladed shields. Behind her, she could hear the splash of water. A glance over her shoulder confirmed the presence of a fountain held aloft by caryatids cast from glittering bronze. The water did nothing to alleviate the heat, and for a brief wild moment Jaina considered slipping away from the congregation to dip her feet into the pool. She abandoned the flash of madness that would have surely led to her social downfall, when another delegation began to step through the portals as well.

Jaina hastened after her own delegation, hiking up the long hem of her red emblazoned skirts just enough so that she did not trip and make a complete fool of herself. At home this shade would have made her stand out like a sore thumb, but here in Silvermoon City the tailor Vereesa recommended had fashioned for her a dress that made her blend into the environment like a longstanding citizen. If not for the fact that she stood a head taller than any other elven woman -- and as tall, if not a smidge taller than most of the men -- Jaina might have been able to pass as a resident. She tugged at the cloth that covered her chest but left her stomach bare, as if somehow that would help cover some skin. Though at this point she was silently thanking the tailor for leaving her shoulders, back, and midriff bare. If she had worn her usual robes, she would have drowned in the heat.

From midway up the delegation of Six, Modera caught Jaina’s eye. She smiled at Jaina, her face softening, before looking ahead once more towards their intended destination. Sunfury Spire towered above them, ornamented in great symmetrical wings that flashed golden in the harsh noonday sun. Trees trapped in the resin of eternal autumn drifted with amber-coloured leaves that garmented the path they walked. Everything seemed to bear wings: statues and pillars and gold-stitched banners. Jaina watched as a lone cloud drifted across the sky above, only to evaporate beneath the sun’s harsh glare.

People streamed in from carriages, from horseback, from portals, and the backs of sunset-hued dragonhawks. At the entrance of Sunfury Spire, they all lined up to present their invitations to the royal guards and be allowed entry. Much to her dismay, Jaina’s new outfit had no pockets, and after showing her invitation, she was at a loss for what to do with her invitation. She tried, unsuccessfully, to fold it up and tuck it into the waistband of her gathered skirts. It bulged beneath the fabric at her waist, and she could feel it sticking to the sweat of her skin. Eventually she gave up and set it down on the nearest surface she could find.

Inside, the Spire did nothing to shield them from the sun’s merciless heat. If anything it seemed to amplify within the marble-shielded walls, as if the high elves wanted to draw attention to the fact that this was the longest day of the year, upon which the sun would shine for hours yet.

So, it was with relief -- and a tinge of desperation -- that Jaina accepted the first cool drink offered to her by a liveried servant. Already the rest of the Kirin Tor delegation were beginning to disperse through the crowd, mingling with distant acquaintances and powerful officials. Taking a sip of her drink, Jaina relished the chill of crystal against her hand while she searched over the heads of the crowd for a familiar face.

“Found you.”

She started, but when she whirled around all she found was Vereesa grinning at her. Jaina tried not to let her disappointment show, and instead complained, “You almost made me drop my drink!”

“Oh?” Vereesa tapped the gold-rimmed crystal glass. “Careful with this stuff. It may taste sweet, but it’s potent.”

“Noted.” Jaina waved over a servant, and asked in accented Thalassian for something non-alcoholic. Her glass was soon whisked away and replaced with another, this time filled with something sparkling that tasted of sun-drenched fields and perhaps limes.

Vereesa slipped into her own tongue. “Your Thalassian is improving.”

“You’re too kind,” Jaina replied in the same language. “I’m still learning.”

Vereesa tsked. “And you’re too modest. I know for a fact Antonidas’ Thalassian is terrible. His accent!” she shuddered for effect.

“Your accent show in Common,” Jaina pointed out.

 _“‘Shows’,”_ Vereesa corrected her with a patient smile.

“Your accent shows in Common,” Jaina repeated properly this time, then asked, “Better?”

“Perfect.”

They chatted with a casual ease, Vereesa slowing down her speech so that Jaina could better follow, and Jaina fumbling through a few complex clauses without too much trouble. People moved around them, more and more pouring in to the sprawling Spire ground floor. Some of the braver folk -- most of them high elves -- flooded out onto the broad balcony bathed in sunlight at the far end of the hall.

“You don’t seem very affected by the heat,” Jaina pointed out eventually, switching back into Common.

Vereesa followed suit, her pauldrons lifting in a shrug. “My people flourish in the sun. The heat feels comforting. Like slipping into a warm bath.”

“I wish,” Jaina sighed. She pressed her sweating glass against her neck for good measure, sighing in pleasure at the feel of cold crystal against her skin. “Your tailor friend said this fabric would breathe, but I’m beginning to think she lied to me.”

With an amused hum, Vereesa reached out to pluck at the fabric of Jaina’s skirt, assessing its fine hand between her fingers. “She did well. A traditional cut suits you. Not to mention that red.”

Jaina felt her cheeks flush somewhat under Vereesa’s approving eye, and was -- for once -- thankful that the stifling heat could hide her reaction. “I never thought red was my colour.”

Vereesa snorted, a surprisingly graceless sound from such a delicately featured person. “Have you ever considered you were wrong about that?”

Before Jaina could respond, all of the guards stationed along the walls and at every door snapped to attention and in unison slammed the ends of their shields against the floor. The noise rang out like a knell, loud enough that it called for a silence that swept across the entire congregation. Everyone turned towards the main doors as Prince Kael’thas strode into the room, a vision of stately opulence in robes of pure cloth-of-gold.

He was trailed by a host of Rangers in resplendent parade armour. As he spoke to the crowd, greeting them and welcoming them to partake in the festivities, Jaina rose up on her toes to search the faces of the Rangers behind him.

“She won’t be here.”

For an instant, Jaina felt her blood run cold. She stared at Vereesa before she could compose herself. Trying to hide, she took a sip of her drink, asking around the lip of the crystal goblet, “What do you mean?”

Hands clasped behind her back, Vereesa suddenly appeared very officious, every inch the rank of Captain that she held. “Sylvanas sent me to represent the Rangers in her stead.”

“Oh.”

Jaina couldn’t help if her disappointment showed now. She gazed down into her glass at the beverage bubbling a soft pale silver.

“A skirmish along the border required her attention,” Vereesa explained, her tone softening.

Forcing a smile onto her face, Jaina said, “It’s alright. I understand.”

The crowd burst into a smattering of polite applause as the prince finished his welcoming speech. Jaina joined in, half-heartedly tapping at her wrist so as not to spill what remained of her drink.

Vereesa did not join in, however. She studied Jaina with eyes pale and sharp as a hawk’s. Taking a step closer, she lowered her voice, “I don’t know what happened between you two -- in the woods, and then upon that mountain -- and I won’t presume to ask, but you must believe I only have your best interests at heart.”

“I know,” Jaina lied.

As the congregation began to strike up their individual conversations once more, and the air grew thick with chatter, and a stringed half-orchestra hidden on the mezzanine floor bowed their instruments to life, Vereesa smiled sadly at Jaina. “I’m sorry to leave you alone, but I really must make my rounds.”

“It’s alright.” Jaina waved her away with a forced laugh. “Go. Be a social butterfly.”

“Hardly!” Vereesa quipped.

And then with a chaste peck against Jaina’s cheek she was gone, and Jaina was alone in a crowd of hundreds.

Standing there, peering around at all the unfamiliar faces, Jaina drained her glass. All of a sudden she wished she had stuck with the alcohol. Still, she took another of the same drink as before, trading glasses with a solemn-faced servant bearing a tray aloft, and slipped through the crowd towards the balcony. At least there it seemed less cramped. Here, the grand hall teemed with people. They jostled their elbows. They tread upon her feet and apologised to her in passing. They engaged in their own clusters of conversation, never showing an open flank that she might slip into and pretend she had existed in their social circles all along.

Only a few strides from the open balcony, Jaina could feel the sun as though it were already striking her skin pink. Before she could escape for a breath of fresh air however, she heard her name being called by a familiar voice.

“Lady Proudmoore,” Kael’thas said. “I’m so glad you could join us.”

She froze. Turning to face him, Jaina bowed low at the waist and spoke in rehearsed High Thalassian, _“Anar’alah belore._ I cannot speak for Kul Tiras, but I’m pleased to be among the Kirin Tor representatives today. You honour me with an invitation at all, Your Majesty.”

His expression brightened upon hearing her words, and he responded in the same tongue with far more fluency. “Nonsense. One of your talent should feel well at home here. You certainly look the part.”

Jaina had to resist the urge to tug at the cloth covering her chest -- the material was not one to stretch. The urge grew stronger as more and more people started to realise the prince was having a friendly chat with a young woman. Jaina could hear a few whispers, queries as to her identity, and then her name and title and pedigree circulating like wildfire. She did her best to ignore them, but her best wasn’t enough.

She could feel a stammer before she even opened her mouth, and promptly switched back to Common to avoid disaster. “I’m afraid I can’t hold a torch to the beauty of your city.”

Her answer seemed to please him, for he smiled broadly. Then, without warning, he held out his hand towards her, palm up. “I would be honoured if you’d join me in leading the first dance of the solstice.”

People were beginning to stare. Silence fell around them, broken only by the sound of music from the mezzanine floor. Even the music faded after a moment, until the entire gathering seemed to be waiting, breathless, for Jaina’s reply.

“I -” she started to say, but stopped, flustered, when a servant came to take her drink away without asking. Out of the corner of her eye, some of the royal guards were herding people back, and it took her a second of panic to realise they were forming space for a dancefloor. As if she had already given her answer. As if there was only one possible answer she could give.

She glanced over her shoulder towards the nearby balcony, but there was no escape for her now. The crowd was closing in, claustrophobic as the heat. Steeling herself, Jaina did the only thing she could, and accepted in Thalassian, “May the eternal sun guide our steps.”

A murmur of surprised approval swept through the crowd at her words. With trembling fingers, Jaina took his hand and allowed him to guide her towards the centre of the dancefloor. The tiling beneath their feet was an intricate sunburst mosaic at the very eye of the Spire, which rose up directly above, a great green crystal floating in the air, turning slowly and radiating with intense arcane magic. Kael’thas squeezed her fingers lightly to bring her attention back down to earth. His hands were soft, not at all like Sylvanas’ calloused palms.

All of the guests had gathered round the perimeter of the mosaic to watch them dance upon the surface of the sun. Jaina swallowed nervously. She tried not to look at them. Even as she stared fixedly at Kael’thas, she could not help but notice the sea of faces beyond him. She was sure she was going to dance with a prince, and stumble, and make a complete fool of herself in front of everybody.

It was, in short, her worst nightmare.

Kael’thas smiled and tugged her forward. “You’re going to be fine,” he murmured as if he could read her mind, softly enough that nobody else could overhear. “Just follow my lead.”

At a loss for words, Jaina could only manage a mute nod. He placed his other hand on her back, careful to not actually touch her skin. Jaina stole a quick glance down at their feet to orient herself. Then she steadied herself with a deep breath.

The music began to play, and they danced.

A week ago, Modera had teased her for begging for lessons in several courtly dances. She had clucked her tongue whenever Jaina had tread upon her feet, and chided Jaina for watching her steps instead of her dance partner. Now, Jaina cleaved to every scrap of practice she had managed to squeeze out of the last few days.

Kael’thas led her through the steps with unwavering confidence, as if he’d been doing this for centuries. And he probably had. The music swelled -- traditional elven stringed instruments Jaina had once seen but could not name -- and Kael’thas guided their dance around the edge of the sun. They spiralled inwards, and it was all Jaina could do to keep up with a complex turn he introduced along the way without warning.

“You see?” he said as he spun her back. “Easy.”

Just as he said it, she nearly missed the next step. Kael’thas changed the length of his own stride, and she recovered without diplomatic incident.

“Maybe not so easy,” Jaina mumbled, her face flaming with embarrassment.

Perhaps some god was listening after all, because her prayers were answered and the dance was soon over. As the strings faded, Kael’thas stopped at the very eye of the sunburst mosaic, and sank into a bow to press a chaste kiss to the back of Jaina’s knuckles. A chorus of loud applause followed, everyone clapping.

Kael’thas straightened, but held onto her hand. “Shall we give them an encore?”

Frantically, Jaina cast her mind about for a way she could decline without tripping over some breach of decorum. She was an instant away from snatching her hand from his grasp, when Kael’thas dropped it suddenly. He was looking over her shoulder, a surprised expression on his face. Confused, Jaina turned around, and her breath caught in her chest.

The crowd had parted, creating a path from the Spire’s massive front gates to the dancefloor. An entire platoon of Rangers marched through the entrance, led by Sylvanas. Her usual armour had been exchanged for ceremonial armour, gilded and lacquered a brilliant flawless ivory. The polished interlocking plates gleamed in a slant of sunlight, and her white cloak flared like the tail of a comet streaming behind a falling star.

Her Rangers stopped at the edge of the sunburst mosaic, but Sylvanas herself continued striding forward until she stood just before Jaina and Kael’thas. With a regal salute, she did not wait before addressing not them but the crowd.

“My prince wishes to open the dancefloor to any who might wish to join,” Sylvanas raised her voice so that it carried, clear as a bell, through the air. She held out an arm in a broad, inviting gesture. “If it pleases you to find a partner and share in the celebrations. _Ana’ronae Thalas’din belore.”_

She finished with a sharp nod towards the mezzanine orchestra and a snap of her fingers. Kael’thas’ expression soured, but he made no move to counteract his General’s words. Jaina had no idea what political undercurrents she had just witnessed, but the orchestra began to play once more without hesitation, and all of the onlookers began to stream onto the dancefloor in pairs. Whatever manoeuvering had just occurred, Sylvanas had come out on top.

Kael’thas aimed a taut yet polite smile at Jaina. “Forgive me, Lady Proudmoore. It seems I must share this next dance with someone else.”

“What -?” Jaina started to ask.

In answer, Sylvanas offered her hand -- not to Jaina, but to Kael’thas. The line of Sylvanas’ jaw was squared, her teeth clenched as Kael’thas took her hand. Sylvanas shot Jaina an inscrutable look over his shoulder, before she and Kael’thas began to dance, moving away through the other pairs.

Jaina dodged around another dancing couple. She quickly ducked from the dancefloor, hiding herself along the far wall beneath a ruby-studded, stained glass window. She was still catching her breath, mulling over the events of the last ten minutes, when she caught Vereesa’s eye from across the room. Standing beside the banquet table piled with delicacies, Vereesa shot Jaina a questioning look, to which Jaina answered with a helpless shrug.

 _‘What did you do?’_ Vereesa mouthed.

When Jaina replied with a furious shaking of her head, Vereesa’s expression turned incredulous. Jaina was saved from further cross-examination by a human nobleman engaging Vereesa in conversation. A servant passed by bearing a tray that brimmed with glasses, and Jaina grabbed one of the alcoholic ones this time.

“Fuck it,” she muttered under her breath, draining the glass. Already, this had been one of the longest days of her life, and it was barely -- she checked the position of the sun through the window -- an hour past noon.

Thankfully, nobody else approached her, though a number of elves gave her an appraising once-over as they passed. They spoke about her in low tones, but not quietly enough that she could not catch snippets of their conversation.

“Isn’t that the Proudmoore girl?”

“I heard she’s apprenticed to the Archmage.”

“I heard she almost killed the prince in an avalanche.”

“No, no -- she and the Ranger General saved him from an avalanche.”

“Surely you jest!”

For the first time, Jaina wished she hadn’t taught herself Thalassian. At least then she wouldn’t have understood what people were saying. She hailed another servant, and traded her empty glass for a full one. Vereesa had been right: the fruity drink packed a punch, but it was a far cry from Kul Tiran Tripel. The pleasant buzz developing in her stomach did nothing to dispel her nerves.

The song ended. More clapping. Jaina didn’t join in this time. Instead, she buried her nose in her glass and took a sip, her free arm curling around her stomach in a feeble attempt to hide her bare midriff. The orchestra struck up another song, and Jaina’s eyes sought out Sylvanas on the dance floor.

It wasn’t difficult to find her. Sylvanas stood out from the crowd, a pillar of white in a blackout of reds and golds. She was conversing with Kael’thas near the edge of the dance floor towards the balcony side of the hall. To anyone else, they might have appeared poised and congenial, but Jaina could pick out the stiffness of Sylvanas’ stance from a nautical mile. She only ever stood like that when in the public eye.

Someone else approached them, and Kael’thas turned a charming smile on them, while Sylvanas’ face remained cool and aloof. Kael’thas said something to Sylvanas, who saluted -- dismissed -- and turned to leave. Jaina stood a little straighter. Sylvanas prowled around the perimeter of the hall, hands behind her back, looking more unapproachable than Jaina had ever seen her. One or two nobles braved the waters, attempting to talk to the Ranger General, but each of them were rebuffed with a terse word and a slight sneer.

The moment Sylvanas’ gaze found Jaina however, one of her long ears betrayed her with a twitch. She immediately changed direction, plotting a circuitous route towards Jaina so as not to draw attention to the fact that her pace had increased. As Sylvanas approached, Jaina dragged a hand through her hair, grimacing when a few sweaty strands stuck to the side of her neck.

Sylvanas stopped an appropriate distance from her. Close enough that they were clearly engaged in conversation, but just far enough away that nobody would suspect anything odd. She offered Jaina an apologetic tilt of her head. A fresh gash across her upper lip had been hastily attended to by a healer not long ago, and Jaina could make out the faintest outline of a scar that would fade in a few hours time.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“What -?” Jaina cleared her throat, trying and failing to seem unaffected by Sylvanas’ presence, to maintain the fiction that they were mere friends and nothing more, “What happened?”

“Trolls,” was Sylvanas’ simple reply.

“Did you win?”

Sylvanas bared her teeth in a sharp, fierce, triumphant smile. “Of course.”

That familiar brash confidence sent a thrill running through Jaina like an electric shock, and her fingers tightened around the stem of her cut-crystal goblet. It were as if before that moment Sylvanas may well have been a figment of Jaina’s imagination, but with two simple words she became real. Jaina wanted to test that solidity herself. Brashness infecting brashness. To lean forward and kiss her. To feel the edge of a fanged grin against her mouth. They’d kissed before -- and plenty more, enough that the memory alone had kept Jaina warm all through spring -- but the long months between their wayward meetings always reminded Jaina to appreciate every second of stolen time together.

Something in Jaina’s expression must have given her thoughts away, for Sylvanas’ gaze darkened in kind. She glanced down at Jaina’s chest, then went very stiff. Her eyes narrowed, her mouth thinned, and her ears had perked up as if in alarm. When Sylvanas spoke however, her voice remained as smooth as ever. “You’re not wearing it.”

“What?” Jaina’s free hand flew to her collarbone, where the chain usually hung Sylvanas’ pendant from her neck. “Oh! No. I took it off for the day and left it in my quarters in Dalaran. Vereesa knows what it looks like, and this dress is -- well --”

She gestured to her lower than usual _decolletage_.

Sylvanas sounded somewhat strained. “Yes, I can see that.”

When Sylvanas’ shoulders remained tense, Jaina frowned in confusion. “Is there something wrong?”

With a curt shake of her head, Sylvanas said, “No. It’s fine. I just thought -” She cut herself off, then exhaled a long shaky breath, muttering, “Sometimes I forget what you know and don’t know about these things.”

“I told you: I have no idea what I’m doing,” Jaina reminded her.

Sylvanas grimaced. “I know, but you learn very quickly, and I’m always surprised at what you’ve already taught yourself out of some dusty old book or scroll.”

At that, Jaina’s eyes widened and she asked, “Are there books on -?” she gestured between the two of them, “- you know. _This?”_

“You mean ‘courting’?” Sylvanas drawled. “And yes, there are. Though none that you’d want to be seen reading in public.”

“Alright, now I _definitely_ have to get my hands on them.”

Sylvanas laughed. The sound was bright and unrestrained, and more than a few heads turned to see what -- or rather who _\--_ could have caused the foreboding Ranger General to laugh so unreservedly. Jaina tried to hide her own smile behind her glass, uncomfortably aware of the attention they were receiving.

“It’s good to see you again,” Jaina said.

Still smiling, Sylvanas hummed in agreement. Her eyes glowed. Perhaps it was the sunlight, perhaps even the solstice itself -- high elves had a peculiar predilection to the sun that humans knew almost nothing about -- but Sylvanas’ eyes seemed even brighter than usual, a luminous, striking blue. “Shame it has to be like this.” She gestured towards the rest of the crowded hall. “Though I’ll take any excuse.”

“Yes.” Jaina toyed with the edge of the cloth over her ribcage. Casting a furtive look towards the dancefloor, which was still abustle with couples, she admitted, “I know we can’t, but it would have been nice to dance with you instead of -- well, you know.”

At that, Sylvanas fell quiet. One of her ears tilted down in a manner Jaina had seen on many an elven mage in Dalaran, usually when they were deep in thought among the library stacks. After a moment, Sylvanas announced, “I have an idea.” She pointed discreetly towards a blade of crimson sunlight on the floor cast through the nearby window. “Stand here.”

Jaina gave her an incredulous look. Then, shaking her head, she placed her glass on the broad windowsill, and moved to stand directly in the sunlight. “Why am I doing this?” she asked. “It’s boiling.”

Sylvanas arched an eyebrow. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Not when you look like the cat who caught the figurative canary,” Jaina shot back. Already she could feel sweat beading at the back of her neck.

“Here I thought you found that attractive.”

“Not right now, I don’t,” Jaina groused. She wiped at her brow and upper lip, grimacing in disgust. “I feel like I’m being slow-roasted over a fire.”

“Yes, that’s the point.”

Jaina glared. _“This_ was your brilliant plan?”

With a grin, Sylvanas replied, “Just one part of it.”

“Damn smug elf,” Jaina muttered under her breath.

Sylvanas held back a laugh behind her teeth, so that the sound did not carry and draw attention to them again. Instead, the sound escaped her in a hum of amusement. She waited another minute or two before saying, “Alright, let’s get a good look at you.”

She stepped forward, close enough that Jaina caught her breath. Sylvanas lifted a hand and felt Jaina’s forehead with the backs of her fingers. Her skin was hot as a brand, far hotter than the sun, and Jaina nearly flinched from the touch. Sylvanas tsked, a small click of her tongue against her teeth. “Oh, you poor thing,” she said, a little louder now. “You look red as a wild berry. Too much sun for your frail human constitution.”

Glowering, Jaina hissed, “What are you doing?”

“We must find you a quiet place to lie down,” Sylvanas continued with a pointed look at her.

“What do you -?” Finally, Jaina cottoned on to her scheme. Her eyes widened. “I mean -- oh! Yes, I feel -- uh -- quite faint, Lady Windrunner.”

Gently, Sylvanas grasped Jaina by the upper arm and began to steer her towards to sprawling spiral steps that led up the central tower. Nobody commented on it. When they reached the staircase however, the two guardsmen standing sentinel there tightened their grips upon their double-bladed staves.

“Stand down,” Sylvanas ordered, her voice going cool and crisp, a tone Jaina had only ever heard her use with her Rangers. “I am taking Lady Proudmoore to rest in one of the spare chambers. She is unwell. Heatstroke, I suspect.”

The guards’ eyes flickered beneath their helms, and they exchanged silent looks. For a moment, they did not react. Then, in unison, they snapped their shields back and stood aside.

“At ease,” Sylvanas said to them. She did not remove her hand as she guided Jaina up the steps.

Together they climbed, circling higher and higher. When they were level with the colossal green gemstone, Jaina glanced over the carved balustrade. Far below, people danced across the sunburst mosaic floor, or congregated by the long table stretched with food. She could just make out Kael’thas in his golden robes, surrounded by fawning courtiers. Vereesa was still making the rounds, though she would occasionally scan the room, searching for someone.

Sylvanas’ grip tightened briefly, before she slid her hand down to lace their fingers together. “This way,” she said, tugging Jaina up the last few steps and towards a door upon the third landing. She tried the handle, rattling the bronze, then frowned. “Locked.”

“I can fix that.” Jaina reached out, a spell on her lips, but Sylvanas snatched her hand before Jaina could trace a rune in the air.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you. Not unless you want us to be swarmed with guards,” Sylvanas warned. She nodded towards the great emerald gem suspended in the air. “That’s not just a bauble. It’s an amplifier. A focusing iris. Any magic used in this building will be augmented a hundred-fold, and the Spellbreakers will sense it downstairs.”

Jaina made a face. “Any ideas? Maybe another room?”

“Perhaps,” Sylvanas trailed off, tapping at her lower lip in thought as she scanned the area.

Her eyes alighted upon a nearby window, this one much smaller but no less ornate than the ones in the main hall downstairs. Sylvanas strode towards it, running her gloved hands along the camed outline. When she pushed, there was a click, and the window swung ajar.

Jaina peered out the window. Her eyebrows rose as she looked down the steep fall to the balcony a good fifteen stories down, where guests milled about in the sunshine. “I think I’ll pass,” Jaina said dryly.

“Not that one.” Sylvanas pointed. “ _That one.”_

Craning her neck, Jaina saw what she was referring to. Another smaller balcony floated in the air, abutting the room with the closed doors. “You have got to be joking.”

Sylvanas pushed open the window a little wider, leaning out to get a good look at any handholds on the sleek Spire walls. “You can stay here, then. With a little luck, they’ll have left the balcony doors unlocked, and I can open these ones from the inside.”

Jaina glanced towards the open staircase behind them. “What do I do if someone comes up here?”

Sylvanas shrugged and hoisted herself up so that she was crouched in the windowsill. “You’re clever. I’m sure you’ll think of something. Or you can just tell them I’ve run off to get some smelling salts, and pretend to faint.”

“Pretend to -? _Sylvanas!”_

But Sylvanas had already slipped through the window and darted outside. Letting loose a stream of her most colourful Kul Tiran sailor’s curses, Jaina stood guard by the window. She tried to look nonchalant, but she caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the window pane and only just then realised Sylvanas hadn’t been joking about the redness of her face. She really did look like a cooked lobster. Unable to summon any ice to cool herself and without any sort of fan, Jaina waved at herself. It didn’t work very well.

She jumped when she heard a scraping of the lock, and then the door swung inwards. There Sylvanas stood, looking far too self-satisfied.

“Lady Proudmoore.” Sylvanas bowed like a personal butler welcoming someone into a mansion. She mimicked Kael’thas’ cultured accent in Thalassian, “Won’t you honour this room with your presence?”

“Oh, ha-ha,” Jaina said, and though her tone was sarcastic it lacked any real bite. “How on earth did you manage to get over there without breaking your neck?”

Sylvanas placed a finger over her lips. “A Ranger never tells.”

With a snort of laughter, Jaina stepped into the room. Sylvanas closed and locked the doors behind her, enclosing them in privacy at last. Once a lofty parlour, the room had fallen into disuse. All of the furniture had been draped in white cloth. Even the chandelier was wrapped as if in swaddling. Glossy sunlight slanted through the windows overlooking the private balcony, illuminating motes of dust that drifted through the air until the entire room seemed to be cast in amber, preserved in time.

With only the balcony doors open and not a breath of wind stirring outside, the heat of the day seemed to gather and intensify here. Jaina ran a hand through her hair again, and it stayed swept back from her brow, darkened with sweat at her temples. “I read that this festival involves a bonfire?”

“Mmm,” Sylvanas affirmed wordlessly, then said, “The moment the sun meets the horizon, they will set a torch to a pyre to honour our ancient kings, and keep the light burning all through the night until the next dawn. Also fireworks. They’re not ritualistic. People just like fireworks.”

Jaina wiped her palms on her skirts. “Great. A bonfire. Just what I need. More heat.”

Not replying, Sylvanas started to unbuckle the cloak from where it was hooked into her pauldrons. Jaina’s mouth went dry.

“What - uhm -” Jaina cleared her throat and pointed. “Do you want some help with that?”

A flash of fang as Sylvanas shot her an impish grin. “It’s easier to dance without the cloak.” She finished unbuckling the cloak and swept it from her shoulders. Tossing it onto a cloth-draped statue as if the priceless piece of elven art were a coat-hanger, Sylvanas unbuckled her ornate bracers next, tugging them off, one-by-one, followed quickly by her white kidskin gloves. The bracers and gloves she dropped to the ground with a clatter. “You did still want a dance, didn’t you?”

Again, the words died in Jaina’s throat, and she found she could only nod. She chewed at her lower lip. This time her hands trembled for entirely different reasons. This was still new, still fresh. The rawness of it -- being in Sylvanas’ remit, wanting her and knowing those feelings were reciprocated -- sent a thrill to the pit of her stomach where it burned like a live coal.

She swallowed the sensation down to very little effect, then braved the question, “What was earlier all about? You know -- when you first came in, and saved me from another dance with Kael’thas?”

“Oh, that. Politics,” Sylvanas sniffed, dismissive not of Jaina’s question, but of politicking itself. “It’s complicated. In essence, it will throw people off our scent, for a while anyway. Besides, it was fun to watch him squirm when he tried to lead.”

“Blessed Tides,” Jaina breathed.

Sylvanas cocked her head in a silent question.

With a relieved little laugh, Jaina shook her head. “It’s nothing. I just thought that you’d -- you know -- challenged him or something.”

Sylvanas’ answering smile was keen as a flensing knife. “Oh, I did.”

“You - You what?”

Sylvanas gave a vague wave of her hand. “Not for a crown or anything silly like that. There is far more to power than titles. Sometimes, it’s just about making a statement. Sending the right message.”

Somehow, Jaina had always intrinsically understood that Sylvanas treated crowns and titles as frivolous baubles. She used them when it suited her, but otherwise discarded them on her spare time, preferring to wander the wilds with nothing but a bow on her back and the whole world spread out at her feet. Kael’thas might brood over the possession of his throne, but Sylvanas would never scheme for it. In appearances maybe, but not truly.

Sylvanas held out her hand. Her roguish smile was infectious. “But enough of politics. You mentioned a dance?”

Without hesitation, Jaina took her hand and allowed herself to be tugged closer. Like Kael’thas, Sylvanas led. Unlike Kael’thas, Sylvanas let her hand drift to the small of Jaina’s back. As she led them through the steps, Sylvanas would stroke her fingers where the line of Jaina’s skirt met bare skin. Strains of muted music wafted up from the open balcony, lingering on the edge of hearing. Sylvanas hummed along with the melody, her voice a low, pleasant burr.

The heat was heavy and dizzying. They moved through it as if through water. Sylvanas incorporated no gaudy surprises in her dancing, instead repeating the same elegant steps in concentric circles, looping them slowly around. The lower the sun sank, the harsher its rays angled, until the room was aglow, until the cloth-covered furniture seemed suspended like white clouds, until the two of them were gilded in sunlight.

“Did you get my last letter?” Jaina asked, breaching the warm calm that had settled between them.

“I did. I’m sorry I couldn’t write. We were beyond our borders, and I feared any missive apart from official correspondence might -” Sylvanas paused, weighing her next words. “- compromise our rather precarious position.”

Jaina glanced down at the scar on Sylvanas’ lip, slowly fading but still visible. “How ‘precarious’?”

Another smile, this one of the devil-may-care variety. “Just enough to lure them out and teach them a lesson.”

“Send them the right message, you mean?”

Sylvanas’ smile broadened. “Always the clever one.”

“Vereesa said -” Jaina began, but broke off, ending with, “I thought you wouldn’t show up.”

Sylvanas brushed the back of her fingers against Jaina’s cheek and murmured. “I came back as fast as I could to see you.”

In spite of herself, Jaina felt a smile pull at the corner of her mouth. “A battalion of angry trolls couldn’t keep you away, huh?”

Sylvanas leaned forward to kiss her smile away, and murmured against her mouth, “Not even an army.”

When Sylvanas straightened, Jaina swayed forward, chasing after the kiss. She felt a hand cup her cheek, the touch scalding as Sylvanas traced Jaina’s bottom lip with her thumb, her hands still sharp with the smell of steel and leather. Moving her hand to Jaina’s back once more, Sylvanas struck up their dance again.

“What does it feel like?” Jaina asked, tilting her head towards the windows where the sun began its slow descent to the horizon. “The solstice, I mean.”

Sylvanas contemplated that question before answering, “It feels like I can kill a wolf with my bare hands.”

For a moment Jaina was shocked by the reply, and then she laughed. Sylvanas grinned along with her, continuing to turn them in ever smaller circles as they danced.

“Seriously though,” Jaina said when she had recovered. “Is that what it feels like? Vereesa said it was like slipping into a warm bath.”

“I never knew my little sister had such a talent for understatement,” Sylvanas drawled. “She probably feels as ill-equipped to answering the question as I do. We are not mages.”

“I know, but I’m curious.”

“Of course, you are.” Sylvanas teased, not unkindly. She reached up to tuck a strand of Jaina’s hair behind her ear. “Imagine you’re aboard a ship of the line, one of your nation’s pride and joys. You’re at sea. The deck is rolling beneath your feet. The wind fills your sails and tugs at your cloak, the air scented with ice and salt. You’re full of life and potential. You feel like you could conquer the world in that very moment. That’s what this day feels like.”

As Sylvanas spoke, she slowed their steps. Her fingertips traced the dip of Jaina’s spine, skimming along the damp bare skin there until Jaina shivered at the sensation. They were just swaying now. It could hardly be called dancing at all. Sylvanas’ eyes brightened, their usual soft blue light growing more intense, almost unearthly, cutting through the gold-drenched air. Her lips had parted, as though abuzz with the feeling. She leaned forward as if to kiss Jaina on the cheek, instead kissing her throat, dragging her mouth across Jaina’s neck, tongue darting out to taste the salt-dampened dip of her clavicle.

Jaina clutched at Sylvanas’ shoulders and tried to steady her breathing. The interlocking plates of Sylvanas’ pauldrons were cool to the touch, but her mouth seared. In spite of herself, a small noise escaped Jaina, and she felt herself flush an even deeper shade of pink. She could feel Sylvanas’ smirk against the underside of her jaw. Jaina ducked her head down to kiss her properly, relishing the way Sylvanas’s hands tightened their grip at her waist.

With a sharp inhalation, Sylvanas pulled away. She swallowed, and when she spoke her voice sounded strained. “We can return downstairs and save this for another time, if you’re not comfortable doing this here.”

Jaina pulled at Sylvanas’ tassets, her reply coming out in a feverish rush. “Shut up, and take off your stupid armour.”

It took an age to rid Sylvanas of her armour, and in the end they didn’t even get all of it off. They stumbled towards one of the couches as they worked. Pauldrons detailed with stunning repoussé clattered carelessly to the floor in a clank of buckles, and Jaina fumbled with the latches of Sylvanas’ breastplate, fingers sliding over the cool lacquered surface for purchase. All the while Sylvanas was mouthing a line across her chest, and Jaina muttered a few choice curses under her breath.

“You’re not helping,” Jaina gasped when Sylvanas dragged her teeth along Jaina’s throat, just softly enough to not leave a mark.

“Sorry,” Sylvanas chuckled, not sounding sorry at all. “Here. Allow me.”

She tugged at a pivotal fold in the traditional elven skirts Jaina wore, and Jaina could feel the whole ensemble begin to unravel. “I sure hope you know how to put this thing back on, because I got the tailor to help me,” Jaina admitted.

Sylvanas pushed the skirts down past Jaina’s hips. “I’m sure we’ll manage.”

At last, Jaina found the hidden latch at the breastplate’s seam. She pushed, and the metal parted with a click. Sylvanas discarded it without a second glance. Her hand was a firm constant pressure on Jaina’s chest, driving Jaina back, step by step, until the backs of Jaina’s knees hit the edge of the chaise. Jaina dropped onto the couch, not bothering to remove the white sheet that covered it, and a small cloud of dust rose into the air.

Sylvanas’ legs were still sheathed in armour when she straddled Jaina atop the couch. Jaina tugged at the drawstrings of Sylvanas’ leather trousers, her fingers shaking as Sylvanas leaned over her. Sylvanas still wore a leather jerkin, but Jaina could see bare skin as Sylvanas lifted it over her head and tossed it onto the cushions beside them.

Jaina waved in exasperation at the thin cotton shift still left over, covering Sylvanas’ chest. “I thought the whole point of ceremonial armour was that it wasn’t supposed to be functional!”

With a grin, Sylvanas swooped forward to kiss the bridge of Jaina’s nose. “Trust me, this armour isn’t functional.”

The wooden pendant Jaina had carved with runes hung from Sylvanas’ neck on a thin silver chain. Jaina parted a few buttons of the white cotton shirt, but stopped. Another new scar, this one slicing from chest to shoulder, long and thin and fading just like the one on her upper lip. Jaina traced it with the barest hint of a touch. Sylvanas said nothing.

“You should look after yourself,” Jaina murmured.

“I always do.”

Steadying herself with one hand on the back of the chaise, Sylvanas used her other to pull at the cloth wrapped around Jaina’s chest. Jaina’s answering exhalation staggered. A bead of sweat rolled down her sternum, and removing the last piece of her clothing did nothing to alleviate the heat. She stopped breathing when Sylvanas cupped her breast. Immediately, it was far less important that Sylvanas remove what remained of her armour.

Jaina grabbed a fistful of Sylvanas’ shirt and pulled her down. Sylvanas kissed her, open-mouthed and burning. Jaina’s head swam with heat. She did not complain when Sylvanas broke away to kiss down her chest. Sharp teeth grazed against her skin, but Sylvanas only paused to leave a mark where Jaina’s clothes would cover it, leaving bruises like dark sunspots upon Jaina’ skin. A click of metal against stone as Sylvanas sank to her knees before the couch. Jaina groaned when Sylvanas sucked at the curve of her hip, nipping at the skin. She tangled her fingers in Sylvanas’ long hair, squeezing her eyes shut.

Sylvanas’ roving mouth moved to her inner thigh. She urged one of Jaina’s legs over her shoulder, and Jaina quickly dug her heel into Sylvanas’ back in an attempt to pull her closer. Sylvanas laughed softly, and Jaina squirmed at the warm pant of air against her.

“Anything in particular you want today, Lady Proudmoore?” Sylvanas asked, pausing to look up from between Jaina’s legs.

“Just -!” Jaina’s grip tightened, but that only seemed to amuse Sylvanas more. “Fingers, too?” Jaina finally managed. “And call me Jaina, please?”

Sylvanas hummed wordlessly. She ducked down again, and whatever comprehensible thoughts Jaina had before evaporated when Sylvanas’ tongue was on her. At the first slow lap, Jaina shuddered. The sheet covering the couch clung to her sweaty shoulders as she leaned back to tilt her hips. Sylvanas took her time. Carefully, she watched, and Jaina could feel those eyes fixed upon her, taking ledger of every gasp muffled behind Jaina’s closed fist, every clench of Jaina’s teeth, every flushed shiver.

When Sylvanas slipped first one then two fingers inside, Jaina could not keep an answering whimper at bay. She dug her heel into Sylvanas’ back, spurring her on. Every time Jaina could feel herself getting close, Sylvanas slowed down. Not enough to lose that edge, but just enough that Jaina could feel her own movements grow more erratic. It built, until finally Jaina came with a wordless cry, grinding down on Sylvanas’ mouth until she couldn’t stand it a moment longer and nudged Sylvanas away.

While Jaina recovered, panting and spent, Sylvanas wiped the lower half of her face clean with the white sheet. Jaina could still taste herself when Sylvanas rose up to kiss her. She could feel the slight tremour of Sylvanas’ hands as Sylvanas gripped her shoulders tight, guiding her back until Jaina was stretched beneath her on the chaise. Jaina pushed up the hem of Sylvanas’ shirt, and Sylvanas went tense as a drawn bowstring when Jaina simply placed a hand against her stomach. The air may have simmered with latent heat, but Sylvanas was burning.

Jaina tried to flip their positions, to press Sylvanas into the couch cushions and take her time in turn, but Sylvanas hissed through grit teeth. She crouched over Jaina on all fours, her long silvery hair slipping over one shoulder, her chest rising and falling with each breath. Jaina tugged at the drawstrings of Sylvanas’ pants, and was rewarded with a groan when she slipped her hand between Sylvanas’ legs.

Whereas before, Sylvanas had moved with careful precision, now her kisses were rushed, fervid. She growled when Jaina touched her too softly, and rebuked her with a sharp nip to Jaina’s neck. When Jaina did not increase the pace, Sylvanas gripped the white sheet beneath them so hard her forearms shook.

“Jaina,” she keened. _“Please.”_

A gasp wrenched from Sylvanas’ lungs when Jaina drove three fingers into her. Her hips rolled, armoured knees digging into the couch on either side of Jaina’s waist. The furniture creaked beneath them as Sylvanas bucked when Jaina reached down with her other hand to awkwardly push the drawstings open further and fumble at Sylvanas’ clit.

At this pace, it didn’t take long. Soon Sylvanas was burying her face into the gap between Jaina’s neck and shoulder, and Jaina’s wrists were aching from the strain. When Sylvanas shuddered to a halt, Jaina waited a moment -- relishing the clench of slick heat around her fingers -- before removing her hands. She wiped them on the sheet, and Sylvanas sank slowly down until the length of her pressed against Jaina from crown to toe.

The lacquered armour of Sylvanas’ legs had warmed now. Jaina’s skin stuck to it, but still she wrapped her arms around Sylvanas’ back. She toyed with the ends of Sylvanas’ hair, running her hands and her still sticky fingers along Sylvanas’ ears, scrape of blunt nails softly against her scalp. A low murmur of pleasure met Jaina’s actions, and Sylvanas nuzzled closer until the top of her head brushed Jaina’s chin.

For a long few minutes, they unwound in the drowsy quiet. Then, Jaina announced to the ceiling, “Wish we could do that more often.”

Sylvanas chuckled. She traced the dip between Jaina’s breasts, where the golden feather pendant usually resided. She made no further comment as to its absence. Jaina stilled Sylvanas’ ceaseless fingers by clasping them warmly between her own. Sylvanas leaned forward, but stopped when Jaina let out a sudden yelp.

“Ow!”

“What?” Sylvanas recoiled immediately. “What is it?”

With a grimace of pain, Jaina wriggled her leg away from Sylvanas’. “Your armour pinched me!”

“I’m sorry,” Sylvanas said with a sympathetic wince of her own.

Jaina pointed to the joint of the offending greave. “Next time, you’re undressing all the way. No armour!” For a moment she paused, then amended, “Except for leather.”

Sylvanas’ eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Jaina stared at her in bewilderment before comprehension dawned. Mortified, she flushed, the pink dappling all the way down to her shoulders. “That’s not -! You know I didn’t mean -! Not like _that!”_

“Not like what?” Sylvanas smirked. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“You’re the worst. The absolute worst.”

Laughing, Sylvanas kissed her.

Sometime later, when Sylvanas lifted up onto her forearms to peer towards the windows, one of her ears flicked in annoyance. “We should get going.”

Frowning, Jaina twisted around to see that the sun was beginning its descent towards the mountainous horizon, staining the sky all saffron and rose. “Why? We have plenty of time, don’t we?”

“Yes,” Sylvanas grunted as she pushed herself upright, clambering off of Jaina to stand. “Plenty of time to get all my armour back on, and try to figure out how to wrap your clothes again.”

Jaina chewed on her lower lip, before relenting with a sigh. “Oh, fine. I guess you’re right.”

Sylvanas shot her an amused look. She tossed Jaina one of the long lengths of red cloth meant to wrap around her chest. “I thought you were supposed to be the logical one in this relationship?”

Catching the cloth, Jaina snorted. “If that were true, then I never would have sent you a pendant to begin with.”

Silence followed that statement. Realising the truth of what she’d just blurted out, Jaina’s eyes went wide. She sat up very quickly and very straight, afraid at what reaction that might have entailed. However, Sylvanas was watching her with a tender expression, even a hint of a smile.

Stepping close, Sylvanas leaned down. She pressed her lips to Jaina’s brow in a fond, chaste kiss, and murmured, “Well, I’m glad you did.” Then, with a smile, she straightened. “Now, let’s get you dressed.”

Sylvanas had been right. It took them at least twenty minutes for Jaina to help Sylvanas back into all that armour, and for Sylvanas to wrap and unwrap Jaina no less than four times before they managed to get the outfit to drape correctly.

“Like unwrapping a present,” Sylvanas quipped as she unwrapped Jaina for the third time.

“I swear, I’m never wearing anything but mage robes ever again,” Jaina grumbled.

“And the world will be a worse place for it.”

Far too soon, they were fully dressed. Outside, the sky was tinged a lavender in the early twilight, and the last dwindling rays of the sun washed the earth in broad shadows. They left the room, leaving it unlocked behind them, and Sylvanas took Jaina by the hand as they approached the stairs.

Together they walked down towards the dusk and the impending nightfall. On the grounds below, liveried servants were piling up kindling like a pyre. Soon they would touch torches to the wood, crackling ablaze, as fireworks shrieked up in the sky. They would burst in a conflagration of colour, like handfuls of stars drifting slowly back down to earth. Sylvanas would remain a discrete, proprietous distance from her, and Vereesa would join them with suspicion in her eyes. But for now, Jaina squeezed Sylvanas’ hand and chased the sunset down every step.


End file.
